


On Offer

by merentha13



Category: The Professionals
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-03
Updated: 2012-11-03
Packaged: 2017-11-17 16:51:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/553766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merentha13/pseuds/merentha13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The aftermath of an op</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Offer

[](http://merentha13.livejournal.com/pics/catalog/295/42650)

_When the rain is blowing in your face,_  
 _And the whole world is on your case,_  
 _I could offer you a warm embrace-_  
 _To make you feel my love._  


 

“Look at him.” Murphy pulled the blind away from the window and watched as the figure blanketed in sadness walked away under a soaked umbrella. “Looks like he was shopped by his best mates.”

_Was, wasn’t he?_ Bodie didn’t voice the thought out loud. He stepped up behind Murphy and followed Doyle’s wet slog across the car park with concerned eyes.

Murphy sighed and turned to Bodie.

“Well?”

“Well what? What do you want me to say, Murph? Yes, the op ended badly. Yes, it was probably Doyle’s fault – he jumped too soon. Yes, a young girl was injured – but she’ll be fine. We _did_ get the villains in the end.” Bodie shook his head. “There’s no way Doyle deserved the public bollixing Cowley gave him.” He met Murphy’s gaze. “And the way the squad scattered – Christ Murphy, it’s no wonder –"

“Doyle did it for you.”

Bodie closed his eyes, raised a hand and rubbed at the back of his neck. “Yeah.”

Murphy squeezed Bodie’s shoulder in silent support as he walked past him and out of the room.

Bodie leaned against the window and watched his partner. Doyle had stopped in the middle of the car park. He stood unmoving, shoulders hunched against the rain, seemingly unaware of the water running off the fabric of the umbrella and soaking his boots. Bodie felt a tug at his heart and swallowed an affectionate smile. No one could look as wretched and dejected and lost as Raymond Doyle. Uneven cheekbones and long nose reddened by the brisk wind, damp curls dripping onto a tight t-shirt and jeans plastered against slim thighs left Doyle looking forlorn and miserable. 

_I’d help you if you’d let me, Ray. Want to. But you always shut me out. You shut everyone out. And that bloody temper of yours! Cowley probably wouldn’t’ve been so hard on you – wouldn’t have suspended you – if you’d’ve kept yourself in check. Never think before you open that gob of yours, do you? Should’ve let old mister smooth, here, handle it. But no, had to get up the old man's nose. Should know by now, sunshine, you can’t beat George Cowley…_

Earlier...

     Gun fire erupted from inside the café, followed by screams. Bodie could see his partner tense as he lay atop the van parked across the street, rifle poised and ready. Bodie raised the loudhailer. 

     “There’s no way out. Give it up! No point in making this worse for yourselves. Let the hostages go.”

     He was answered by a second hail of gunfire, this time directed over his head. The café window shattered sending shards of glass out into the street. Bodie ducked behind his Capri.

     “Bodie!” He heard Doyle shout. He stood up cautiously, letting Doyle know he wasn’t hit. Beside him, Cowley scowled. 

     “Mind on the job, 3.7,” he said curtly, sending a scathing look Doyle’s way. 

     Bodie rolled his eyes. He knew their boss had not been best pleased to learn about the newest aspect to the partnership of his best team, but he hadn’t expected the anger – most of it directed at Doyle.

     Cowley took the loudhailer. “This is George Cowley, CI5. You are surrounded by the Met and my agents. You’ll not be leaving here. Send out the hostages and we may listen to your demands.”

     A man appeared in the broken window holding a young girl tightly against his side. He was in his mid thirties, wearing dirty jeans and a shabby pullover. There were small cuts adorning his whiskered face and large hands. The girl appeared unharmed, long brown hair caught by the wind, covering her face so Bodie couldn’t see her expression. She was shaking, but not crying. Bodie silently admired her courage. The man signaled to someone inside and three people were allowed to leave the café.  Officers from the Met quickly bundled them to safety.

     “Cowley!” the man called out. Everyone’s attention left the freed hostages and returned to him and the girl he held.

     “Let the girl go,” Cowley responded.

     “No. She’s my insurance of your good intentions,” he laughed bitterly. “We want a car and a clear path away from here.”

     Cowley nodded at Bodie and he reached into his jacket pocket for the Capri’s keys. The move surprised a second villain hidden behind the curtains of a room on the second floor of the building. Doyle saw the curtain move, saw the weapon pointed at Bodie and fired his rifle. Pandemonium broke  out. Gunshots, breaking glass, screams and cries filled the street. When the chaos cleared, one villain was dead, two were in custody and the young hostage was on her way to hospital. Cowley was livid.

     “Just what did you think you were trying to accomplish, Doyle?” he demanded.

     “He had the drop on Bodie.” Doyle’s face twisted with anger. “Would you rather I’d let him shoot – sir?” The latter added with disdain.

     “I’d rather a young civilian not be on her way to casualty, 4.5.”

     Doyle’s face went white. “I didn’t shoot her…”

     “No, but your shot started the whole mess. It may as well have been you – "

     “I was protecting my partner – "

     “Who was perfectly safe, Doyle. Keep your focus on the job – there is no room for emotional –" 

     “So I can end up like you,” Doyle interrupted acidly. “No thank you.”

     Noticing the attention the hostile exchange was garnering, and the reproving looks directed at Doyle, Bodie jumped in. “The Chief Inspector would like a word with you, sir.”

     Cowley turned to him. “Tell him I’ll be there in a minute, Bodie. Doyle, turn your weapon and ID in to Murphy when you get to HQ. Report to my office Monday, 7 AM.”

     Doyle glowered at him, opening his mouth to speak. Bodie grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around. “I’ll see that he’s there, sir.” He pushed his fuming partner away from the equally angry Controller. “Save it, Ray,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “You looking to get sacked? Christ, you need a keeper!”

 

 _You need a keeper._ The words came back to him as he rested his forehead against cold glass. Doyle was still standing immobile in the car park. His bearing as bleak as the weather. He was a dim, drenched shadow in the wet, murky night. Bodie saw him turn and look up at the dark window, as if sensing his partner’s watchful presence. Lightning lit the gloom, revealing a look of longing, a look of deep, aching hunger. Bodie’s breath caught in his throat. _I’d keep you, Ray._ He winced at his own sentimentality. Doyle wouldn’t appreciate it. He’d made it clear that he wasn’t expecting the world’s greatest romance. But something in the denial, the way the words had been said, let Bodie see that that was exactly what his partner was looking for. Bloody Ann Holly, last in a line of romantic disappointments, had left Doyle vulnerable and unsure. Left him longing for someone to love him as he was, warts and all. _And I do, sunshine, if only you’d let me, if only you’d trust me – not just with your life, but with your heart._ But Ray didn’t trust himself enough to give in to his feelings. He'd built a shelter around his heart that Bodie couldn’t breach. And it hurt them both. _I’d keep you, Ray._

 

_I know you haven’t made your mind up yet._  
 _But I would never do you wrong._  
 _I’ve known it from the moment we met,_  
 _No doubt in my mind where you belong._

_I could make you happy, make your dreams come true,_  
 _Nothing that I wouldn’t do._  
 _Go to the ends of the earth for you,_  
 _To make you feel my love._  
-Bob Dylan, _“Make You Feel My Love”_

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a Tea & Swiss Roll Weekly Obbo - prompts: blanket, shop and a picture prompt


End file.
